


Lie to Me

by Caradee



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spy, Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF!Charles, Captivity, Espionage, Guns, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caradee/pseuds/Caradee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Erik Lehnsherr is an ex assassin who gave up his life of crime and killing to settle down with a university professor. Everything is fine until two CIA agents storm his apartment late at night- and their arrival is just the start of his problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written a while ago, because- well I wanted to. Also, I'm beginning to notice a theme among my stories.

Their bed was almost too big when Erik slept in it alone. He wasn’t used to the space.  What he was used to was small cots, and sometimes even smaller corners - sleeping on trains or in cars. Usually Charles’ body pushed him to the edge of the bed, against the wall, trapping him between a warm body and cool plaster. There, Erik felt right at home.

 

Now, with Charles away for work - lecturing at a university - the bed was just a piece of furniture that was too large and overly comfortable. He hated it. Erik could never sleep well on the nights his lover was away, and often found himself staring at the ceiling disgruntled for half the night before finally throwing the covers off and finding something to do. That sometimes became cleaning up the apartment or sketching a new architecture design.

  
Because that’s what he did now. Architecture.

  
The years he spent traveling Europe seemed so far away, when really it had only been a solid year since he’d quit his life on the road and finally settled down in Oxford. Charles said he had adapted well - if only the geneticist knew how well. New country, new job, new home, and a new lifestyle. All completely opposite from his days tracking down runaway Nazis for pleasure and money; when rich Jewish families would pay him to find old tormentors; when Erik used to take great pleasure in taking a life and stalking about with only a small suitcase in his hand and numerous aliases on his lips. Once the best at his job, now... He lay on a bed that was too soft and wondered how it had been so easy to slip into Charles’ pampered life style.

 

His lover never kept the fact from him that he was from old money - he went to Oxford for God’s sake, lived in an exceptionally nice apartment on a mere teacher’s pension, and even had a home stateside that had been in the family for years. But Erik wasn’t in love with Charles’ money, he was in love with the fact that the man had simply blinked at his small patched-up suitcase with inquiring blue eyes, and never asked where the rest of his belongings were. He loved that Charles lived an abnormally normal life in his sleek apartment that was covered in dusty books, coffee stains decorating the hardwood floor, and that the bumbling professor left his shoes by the door in a messy pile for Erik to trip on. They went out and got drunk at least one day a week, and made love all the others.

 

It was a life Erik had never allowed himself to dream of, but had always wanted, and somehow... _somehow_ it had fallen into his lap. All because of one mousy Englishman. A man for whom Erik would wait out the lonely nights and had given up a lifestyle that had suited him so well.

 

Charles Xavier had changed everything for him, and Erik would do anything for the man in return.   
  
\---  
  
The click of the front door echoed throughout the apartment. Ringing down the kitchen and turning left to pierce through the door of the master bedroom and reach Erik’s trained ears. He frowned at the ceiling, hands balling into the sheets as he heard the pause of the door opening and then the soft pound of feet against the hardwood. Small feet, Erik noted, and not Charles’.

  
Charles was a lazy walker, he threw his feet to the ground with such force it sounded as if elephants were running through their living room. Erik could pick out the other man’s footsteps a mile away. Also, Charles wasn’t due home for another day.

His lover knew to call if he got done early, knew Erik would pick him up and would at least appreciate the heads-up before a surprise visit. The blue-eyed man had done tried to surprise him once in the past, as a romantic gesture, but Erik hadn’t been quite used to his lover’s footstep patterns at the time, nor was he used to living in one place for longer than a month. Erik was jumpy when the door opened at two in the morning and had nearly broken Charles’ collar bone as he threw him over the couch and into the small end table.

A second pair of footsteps joined the first, and Erik’s instincts jumped into action. They were in the main living room, he noted from the noise, and talking in hushed tones. Like a cat, he clawed out of the bed, his muscles tight with anticipation but his movements silent. His sweatpants hugged his hips, and goosebumps covered his naked torso, from the adrenaline, not the cold. It had been months since he’d felt the familiar rush of stalking. Nearly a year. He was almost amazed at the ease with which his body fell back into form.

   
He toed up to the side of the bedroom door, where his body hugged the wall as Erik listened for any more movement from the intruders. They were talking in hushed voices, barely audible except for a hissed, “Nothing.”

 

“Check the bedroom...”

   
Erik’s heart jumped into his throat at the command. He hadn’t given himself the chance before, but now his brain couldn’t help but wonder what these people were looking for. Were they searching for him or Charles? Did they intend to harm them? The mere thought made him see red, made his fist clench into a hot ball, and when the door cracked open just a speck he made his move. Expertly pushing himself forward and wrapping his hand around the slender wrist that had touched the door knob. The woman gasped as he barreled into her.

  
She took two surprised steps backwards and then dug her feet into the ground, trying to trip Erik, but it didn’t work. His grip was much stronger, and all he had to do was flick her wrist up and back, effectively snapping it. Her surprised scream was music to his ears as she jerked back again, but he didn't let go. Instead his eyes were scanning the room, looking for the other intruder.

  
It was a beat before he realized it was only him and the one woman in the room. Another beat because he heard a thump behind him, and before he could turn around he felt one of Charles’ heavy bookends collide with his head and knock him to the floor.

Stars danced in front of his vision and the entire right side of his face felt numb as he gritted his teeth and stared at the blurred shapes hovering above him. “He’s still awake...”

 

“Fuck it.” One figure lifted a large leg-shaped lamp and brought it down.   
  
\---  
  
It was a wake up call Erik remembered quite well. In his dreams he still woke to blood in his mouth and the tight pull of bruised skin patching his face. He never figured he would wake up like that in his and Charles’ kitchen, though, tied to one of their steel dining room chairs. Arms behind his back, legs tied to respective chair legs, and with two women hovering over him, their arms crossed and disapproving frowns on their faces.

A blond woman, dressed in a black trench coat that contrasted nicely with her bright wavy locks, was holding the same bookend that had smashed against Erik’s head. The other woman was smaller, mousier looking. With light brown hair and a slim Roman nose. She was nursing her wrist gently against her torso and giving Erik a cautious glare.

The blond one spoke first, “Where is Charles?”

“Like hell I’m going to tell you,” Erik tried to spit venomously, but the words came out slightly slurred and lacking the bite he’d intended. So they were looking for Charles. His stomach coiled into a heavy steel ball at the thought of what these crazy women wanted with an Oxford professor. Either it had to be deathly important, or they were just unstable enough to break into his home in the odd hours of the morning.

The blond didn’t look pleased with the answer and glared while Erik tried to regain feeling in his mouth. His tongue was swollen and was the source of the blood he tasted; he must have bitten it when the boot came to his face. Luckily, he hadn’t bitten it off.

“Who are you?” the woman asked again, holding the bookend up with a threat.

“I’m not going to tell you that either...” Erik hissed.

“Raven!” The mousy one spoke up with a sudden gasp, her brown eyes widening as if something dawned on her as she stared Erik down. “Shit, Raven. I thought this guy looked familiar, do you know who he is?”

Raven and Erik both arched brows at her sudden cry, the coil in his gut tightening. People recognizing him was never a good sign. Either they knew he was Charles’ flatmate and lover, or they knew...

“He’s Max Eisenhardt! The assassin we were trailing in Europe.”

 Erik watched as Raven worked her mouth, clearly surprised. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath. Not good. Not. Good. They knew, they knew, and they had been _following_ him, and they wanted Charles and he still had no idea who these women were.

 “That can’t be right,” Raven said slowly, struggling to find the words, “Moira, Charles said he disappeared a year ago.”

The inner mantra in Erik’s head stopped in its tracks.

“I know, but I know his face. I spent weeks pouring over his information with Charles, remember?”

And suddenly the room became very cold.

Two pairs of eyes, one bright ocean-green, the other a somber brown were staring at him questioningly. Raven’s lips were pursed in a thin line. Erik could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. See that she was trying to make sense of the situation. Finally she asked, “So, what? You came back, Eisenhardt, thought you’d finish the job and kill our best agent?”

“What?” Erik growled, body jerking at the accusation and at the last word that had escaped her mouth. _Agent_. His mind reeled, what did it mean. It couldn’t be. Charles couldn’t be...

“I fucking live here,” he finally got out, and at the dubious glances that were sent his way he tilted his head towards his half dressed body, “You think I’d really try to finish a job dressed like this? In an apartment where the owner isn’t supposed to return till tomorrow?”

Raven stiffened at the remark, “How did you know he wasn’t coming back till tomorrow?”

“Research?” Moria supplied, still looking at him.

Erik nearly sighed. “Because I _live_ here,” he stated in exasperation, “and Charles is away at a genetics lecture in Italy.”

The women looked at each other, holding a silent conference of confusion before they turned back to him, and this time Moira spoke, her voice calm and steady, “No, Mr. Eisenhardt, Charles left on a mission for the CIA three days ago, and he’s gone missing.”

Erik saw stars again, his body swaying as the information hit him like a punch in the gut. He didn’t know which piece of information to pay more attention to. The fact that Charles - _his Charles_ \- worked for the CIA, or that he had gone missing. Then, as if things couldn’t get worse, Raven asserted herself back into the conversation, “This is Moira MacTaggert, his boss, and I’m Raven Darkholme. And _you_ , Mr. Eisenhardt, are going to answer any questions we give you about my brother.”


	2. Chapter 2

_A year ago_

The Eagle pub was thick with smoke and crowded with young college students eager to begin their drinking on a Thursday night. The ones that bumped into him turned towards him with scowls and the intent to fight, but those quickly evaporated when Erik gave them a look. He wasn’t in the mood - the only reason he was in the pub was for business. Not pleasure.

Never pleasure.

His victim’s name was Ralph Lannergahn, a history teacher at Oxford. After working the death camps in Poland, the man, like so many others, had abandoned his post and tried to start life anew. It had taken Erik nearly a month to hunt him down. He had changed his name over the years, had gotten fatter and older, but Erik had his resources and they told him that Ralph Lannergahn (a.k.a Dr. Karl Meirzer of the German Army, who specialized in the study of twins) visited The Eagle every Thursday to play cards in the back room.

Tonight Erik was just doing recon, taking in the pub and its patrons. To figure out how high of a guard Lannergahn had in the open, and the exact time the man arrived and left. His mind catalogued every exit the place offered: there was the front door, a back door that led to the card room, and a side entrance that no doubt led to an alley way. The windows in the place were stained glass and small, and they hung high off the ground, too high for a person to simply jump out of if they were desperate enough.

Taking another sip of his beer, Erik made sure to watch the front door carefully. It was still early, only seven o’clock, but still no sign of Lannergahn. Then another body bumped against his shoulder, jerking his steady hold on his beer mug and causing the liquid to spill onto his hand. Erik growled in the back of his throat while a voice laughed behind him, “Real sorry about that, Chap.” A hand fell on his shoulder in apology and Erik turned around to give his usual glare.

The man simply blinked back in response. The lopsided, ridiculously happy smile on his face remained in place, as did the hand on Erik’s shoulder. He frowned at the man, giving a clear signal that he wasn’t in the mood to be talkative. In response, the stranger wiggled his brows at Erik, his smile suggestive. “You’re new here.”

“I’m busy,” Erik said curtly, turning back to his beer.

“Busy?” the Englishman said, nearly scoffing at the word. “Your staring at a nearly-full pint of beer that you’ve had for thirty minutes.” Erik looked at the man quickly and noticed that he didn’t look ashamed as he said, “I’ve been watching.”

Erik tensed at that, but had to remind himself that this was a pub in a college town. Making friends of strangers was like a pastime. He took a moment to take in the young man in front of him. Boyish face, lengthy brown hair, and dressed like a typical Oxford student in a collared shirt (currently with two buttons undone) and khaki pants. The man held a empty mug in hand and had a light flush coloring his cheeks, making his blue eyes shimmer in the dull pub light.

“Well I’m sorry, but you’ve been watching the wrong person,” Erik stated simply, shrugging the hand off his shoulder and noting how it fell limply by the man’s side. “I’m not interested.”

The man licked his lips, but he didn’t frown at the dismissal. Instead he looked amused, eyes darting to Erik then at the bustling crowd around them before baby blue eyes fell on Erik again. “My mistake then,” he placed his empty mug on the bar top for someone to pick up later and tipped his head to the side. “I’ll go watch someone else then.”

The sudden sound of a door closing jostled Erik’s attention away just in time to see two bodies disappearing into the card room. He cursed under his breath as he realized he’d missed something vitally important to the mission and turned back to the spot where his suitor had been standing moments before, to find that the young man was gone, and so was Erik’s mug of beer.

  
\---

He returned the next night in hopes of catching Lannergahn again. He had been chased out of the pub at last call, even though behind the back doors a card game still raged on and Erik’s target remained unseen. He had left with just a soft sigh, knowing this hit would be like all the others. It took weeks of watching and planning before he made his move. Everything had to be perfect, there couldn’t be a trail leading back to him. That was the reason he had been out on the streets for so long, and he’d be damned if this time anything went differently.

In truth, he wasn’t expecting the German professor to come in at all. It wasn’t his usual night. The place was packed to the brim and too loud with students beginning their weekend. Erik nursed his third beer, trying to drone out the constant screaming and cheering that seemed to be going on in the back corner. When his eyes just happened to wander to the door and see the small portly man from his file, he nearly did a double take. Nearly.

Lannergahn waved at a few students who called out to him, but moved with purpose through the crowd. His smile was stretched, pulling his lips into an almost ugly grimace that Erik couldn’t take his eyes away from.

Cold glass brushed against his hand, jerking blue-grey eyes away from their target and towards the vaguely familiar face of the student from the other night. The boy blinked his bright baby blue eyes at him suggestively before pushing the fresh beer closer against Erik’s skin. “An apology for last night,” he said smoothly.

Erik gave the beer the briefest of looks. He worked his mouth slowly. A wordy dismissal was forming in his mind, something hard and cold enough that the kid would maybe get it this time, but the words... the words were struggling to make an appearance.

And then Lannergahn appeared at the boy’s shoulder.

“Professor Xavier, I was hoping you’d be here again,” the German smiled, not even looking at Erik as he wrapped the boy - _Professor?_ \- in a one armed hug. It was brief, but the blue eyed man was all smiles as he clapped Lannergahn on the arm.

“My students dragged me out tonight. I couldn’t resist the challenge of drinking them under the table,” Xavier said, eyes still locked on Erik even though his words were directed elsewhere.

Lannergahn nodded, sniggering lightly as he said, “Well, you are more than welcome to join us in the back room for a game. I know Jones enjoyed your company yesterday.”

“I may join later, but give him my regards if I don’t show.” Xavier tilted his head towards Erik, “I haven’t seen my friend in quite some time.”

“Of course, of course.” Lannergahn’s eyes trailed to Erik, noticing him for the first time, but there was no spark of recognition. The man had no idea he was staring at his death. “Have a lovely evening, gentlemen.”

“You too,” Xavier gave a flippant wave as Lannergahn disappeared into the crowd.

Erik tried not to let his eyes follow the retreating man. An opportunity had suddenly presented itself, and he’d be a fool not to take it. He put on a small smile, and gave the talkative brunette a look, “You’re a professor?”

The man laughed. “Thought I was someone else?” he asked, but it was clear the mistake had been made before. He kept his chin held high and tossed his hair out of his eyes as he introduce himself. “Charles Xavier, I teach genetics at Oxford.”

Erik extended his own hand and lied through his teeth, “Michael Fassbender, I’m a tourist.”

  
\---  
  
 _Present day_    

 

“You gotta be kidding me.”

Erik shook his head, which still felt heavy and strangely numb as he swallowed. “I’m kind of wishing this were a joke myself,” he admitted, feeling how dry his mouth had become in his recollection.

The two women in front of him shared another look, Moira looking as though she were still taking in the new information. Her brows narrowed and her mouth turned downward just slightly, “So you just... gave up your life of crime and settled down with our agent. That’s what you expect me to believe.”

“I wouldn’t have called it a life of crime,” Erik couldn’t help but chime in, “I’d call it redemption.”

“Mr. Lehnsherr, you killed nearly eighteen people in the last five years. Some of those people held high positions in foreign politics and others...”

“They were all monsters, and I just did what no one else would. The government took their sweet time for justice to be served. I talked to the families whose lives those men ruined.”

Moira sighed, her hand coming up to massage the left side of her head. Much the way Charles did when he was overly exhausted or frustrated. Erik had to swallow that particular thought. “You are still wanted in four countries. It took the CIA four years to track you down, and when we finally do, you’re telling me that our agent asked you to be his _flatmate_?”

 “Life is funny like that, isn’t it?” Erik asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Why would Charles lie to us?” Raven suddenly peeped up from where she had been leaning against the kitchen counter. She’d been unusually quiet while Erik explained his relationship with her brother, taking everything in with only the briefest of emotions slipping onto her pretty face.

The question made the room go quiet.

Moira’s deep brown eyes were burning holes into Erik, as if he held the answer to the question. Erik stared right back, expecting the same. Charles hadn’t just lied to him - he had lied to his boss, and his sister. The man Erik had always thought of as a dusty professor who enjoyed college gossip too much had kept more then a few close secrets. The room spun again at the realization that he really didn’t know Charles _at all._

An optimistic part of Erik wanted to believe Charles had lied to protect what they had. The impressive illusion of ordinary life that the Englishman had obviously worked so hard to build. This was the same part of him that reminded Erik that just last week Charles had asked him to read to him in German while nodding off to sleep, and the first time Charles remembered how Erik liked his coffee, or that moment when he woke up to...

He shook his head again to clear the thoughts away and bit back the vomit that threatened to rise.

“Do you think he’s gone rogue?” Raven asked again, almost concealing the crack in her voice. Erik looked up to see the young woman staring at her boots. She no longer looked in control of the situation, or like the fierce animal who had managed to knock Erik to the ground. She looked just like the thing she claimed to be, Charles Xavier’s little sister.

“I don’t understand,” Erik finally spoke up - his voice was gravely, almost too rough, but he tried to speak through it, “what do you mean, “gone rogue”?”

 “Well, Mr. Lehnsherr, let me try to spell it out for you. First one of our top agents allows his target to live, then lies to his superiors about it for nearly a year, and now while on a mission in Russia he packs up early and leaves a day before his arranged flight,” Moira said pointedly.

“We thought he had just come home early,” Raven spoke up. “He finished the mission, and the next day his room was empty. Completely clean, with no trace that he had even been there. The usual, but he usually tells us if he catches a earlier flight, and he missed the entire debriefing, which Charles never does. And now...”

 “Now he’s not here,” Moira finished, “but you are Mr. Lehnsherr, and I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with us. We’ll start cleaning up this mess when we get back to the States.”

 Erik didn’t even feel the dread her words should spark in him. For years he had been avoiding capture, and now it had happened so easily, and by accident. But his mind couldn’t help running over all that had happened. Moira and Raven were contemplating Charles going rogue, but Erik couldn’t wrap his mind around the thought.

Everything he knew about Charles Xavier seemed to be a lie. It would be easy to fall into the same train of thought as the CIA. But Charles had been too excited about planning a trip for the upcoming holidays, something he’d racked his brain about for weeks before finally deciding on Germany. Charles didn’t just leave things unfinished. It was an acute part of the man’s personality. He tied up his endings, fought until a logical conclusion was found.

It just wasn’t his style to pack up and leave.

If that were the case, he would have left either Erik or the CIA long ago.

“And if you’re wrong?” Erik said, his question dragging Agent MacTaggert and Raven Darkholme out of their private conversation.

Their eyes went to him, both wide as Moira asked, “What do you mean?”

“If Charles hasn’t gone AWOL, that just leaves one other option.” An attempt to swallow turned into a scratchy cough and then bitter laughter. He couldn’t believe the words about to leave his mouth. Not in a million years would Erik believe that such a normal night would lead to this. “Moira MacTaggert, your best agent has been captured by the Russians.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) First of all, thank you everyone for the comments and the views. It means a lot to me. 
> 
> 2) I didn't really establish this that well in the first two chapters but this is a modern day AU. Not set in the 60s because my knowledge of that time is limited and my knowledge on espionage in that time is limited. So its set in modern times. 
> 
> 3) Hopefully you all enjoy this chapter as much as the other two. Again, thanks!

Chapter Three

 

_A year ago_

He had his gun in hand, charged and ready to go. Crouched in the alleyway of Eagle’s Pub, Erik waited for his chance. It had been three weeks since he’d begun his initial investigation of Lannergahn, and he knew the ex-Nazi would step out at any moment for his usual midnight smoke break. He knew the professor would be by himself, the only card player who cared enough to step outside. He knew he had a window of ten to fifteen minutes to subdue his target and put a bullet in the his head.

Now it was just a waiting game.

The two trash cans he was using as cover reeked. Erik’s nose twitched at the smell of old eggs and spoiled meat, but he had been in worse places before. He’d also been in better places. Just before this, in fact, curled up in Charles Xavier’s small, cozy apartment. Entangled in a warm goose-feathered comforter and the limbs of a sleepy professor.  Their three-hour-long sex marathon had ended only two short hours ago, but Erik’s body still throbbed where Charles had bitten and kissed him. His cock could harden at the mere memory of what the bright-eyed man had done with his mouth but - No!- that was for a later time. He could return to the real thing after this business was done.

Then... then he would have to consider his next move. He’d have to consider the offer Charles had blurted out while they were drinking scotch earlier that night.

  _Move in?_ It must seem like such a simple offer for the Oxford professor. He was sure Charles considered them “going steady” for all normal intense and purposes. Erik, on the other hand, didn’t even consider the words “settle down” to be in his dictionary.

He had a job, a mission -- kill Nazis, kill Shaw. Could he just give up on that, all for a man he’d known only a few short weeks?

The phone in his pocket buzzed loudly, stirring the silent air of the alleyway and causing Erik to bump into one of the trash cans, attempting to get at his phone. He silenced it first, then pulled the small device out of his pocket and gave the missed call symbol a firm look.

A name flashed back at him in large, guilt-inspiring letters. CHARLES XAVIER.

“Fuck, what do you want?” Erik hissed under his breath, before casting a longing look at the alley door. The phone buzzed a second time, showing the same name as it vibrated. Erik stared at it, contemplating where he was, what he was doing, and then who was calling.

Charles was calling, and at two in the fucking morning. He thought he’d worn the smaller man out well and good; usually Charles slept like a dog during the night. Drooling and completely unable to be woken. If he was calling, something could be wrong. _Something could be wrong_ , Erik’s mind stressed, bringing up images of late night assailants or even Lannergahn himself. If the old man suspected Erik of foul play, would he go after Charles?

The thought was enough for him to flip open the small phone on its last ring. “Hello?”

“Erik? Oh thank God, where are you?”  The anxiety and relief wrung Charles’ usually chipper voice dry.

Erik swallowed a hard lump in his throat and glanced at the Eagle Pub’s doorway, “I, uh -- needed some fresh air.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Charles was trying to find the truth in his words or lack thereof. “Erik,” the professor said very slowly, cautiously even, “Erik, are you okay?”

He stood up from his place behind the trash. If Lannergahn came out then, it would be best if he didn’t find Erik talking on his phone huddled behind the garbage. His best bet now was to play it off as if he were having a late night, a late night at his and Charles’ favorite bar, talking on the phone, possibly drunk.

“I’m fine, I told you I just needed some fresh air,” he lied. He should have been disgusted with how easy it was to lie to Charles, but putting on the mask was just second nature now. He could slip into the suit of whomever he wanted to play. An interested banker, a quiet postman, a caring boyfriend.

“You were tense all evening,” Charles countered back, taking Erik by surprise, “and then you leave at one in the morning for fresh air? Something’s wrong.”

Erik gritted his teeth. This was it. If Charles kept nosing about in his business, if he demanded an explanation from him or their fun was off, then it was over. He’d hang up the phone, kill Lannergahn, and leave Oxford. Never looking back.

But Charles knew his real name. He had _told_ Charles his real name. Fuck fuck fuck.

The line went quiet again. Erik not offering up an explanation and Charles waiting. The ball wasn’t in either of their courts, it was balanced precariously on the tennis net, and whoever made the next move decided fate.

Finally Charles sighed, and Erik could just imagine him cupping the phone to his ear and hunching over the kitchen table as he said, “Look. I don’t even care what it is. You don’t even have to tell me if you don’t want to. Just come back, Erik. Please, stop it now - and come back.”

Erik hesitated at the words. They weren’t the ones he expected, nothing like what he expected. For once in his life he was at a loss, and at that moment the metal door to Eagle’s Pub opened with a slam and Lannergahn stepped out, dressed in his usual stuffy attire, cigar in hand.

Erik stared at the man in surprise, and Lannergahn paused lighting his cigar as his eyes fell and met Erik’s. Shit. “Is that you, Fassbender?” the professor asked, giving a snorting laugh and stepping forward.

Charles voice in the phone called out to him, sounding frantic, “Erik, who’s that?”

“What are you doing here?”

It was strange to think that nearly five hours ago, Charles had given him an offer Erik thought he would never receive. And his answer had been to shut the smarmy professor up as soon as possible with a kiss and breach the subject at another time. Now, only hours later, he had to choose.

Lannergahn had noticed his phone and began to puff away at his cigar, waiting for Erik to finish his phone conversation. Charles was yelling into his ear, trying to get a response out of him. “Come back. Please, Erik, come home.”

He didn’t know what it was exactly, which part of what Charles said. If it was the “please”, or maybe the word “home”.  But all of the sudden it seemed like there was only one option available to him. “I’m sorry,” he said into the cheap piece of plastic, and his voice sounded so raw - barely recognizable as his own. “I’m sorry, I’ll be right there.”

Charles took a deep breath, “Thank you, Erik.” And then he hung up before either one of them could say another word.

Lannergahn perked up once Erik tucked his phone back into his trouser pocket, but before the older man could say a word, he held up a hand and dismissed himself.

He sprinted home. Took his time on the stairs to catch his breath, and stared at Charles’ apartment door for a solid two minutes before finally pushing his key in and opening it. A body collided with his own as soon as he stepped into the living area, and immediately Erik’s instinct was to push the assailant away. Except he caught sight of the floppy brown hair, the usual flannel pajama pants, and there was no mistaking Charles’ small stature.

Erik swallowed the unease he felt at Charles’ obvious worry and tentatively wrapped his arms around the smaller man. “I’m sorry I worried you,” he offered, while Charles just shook his head and stayed in place. Arms in a vice grip around Erik’s hips.

They stayed like that for a long while before finally retreating to bed. Erik always assumed Charles had just been worried by his disappearance. The brunet never mentioned that night, and Erik never offered an explanation. He’d always loved that about Charles.

Now, though, he was beginning to see everything in a slightly different light.

\---

_Present_

 

He woke slowly from the dream. Eyes still lazy with sleep before they adjusted to the plane’s dull lighting. It was hard to cling to the memory. If Erik had woken up in his own bed, in his own home, it would have been easier. He would be preparing to go to work, one more day until Charles came home, and then they would go out for dinner, maybe end the night wrapped up on the sofa - or maybe the night would never end for the two of them.

The bitter taste in his mouth was hard to swallow. Best not to think about that now. Charles, his lover, the man he used to love, was nothing more than a liar. It would be best if he didn’t forget that fact. Instead Erik concentrated on the blinding white scenery visible under the window shade.

He’d been on a planes before; many of the scum he chased had disappeared to South America. He use to love the long agonizing hours in the hour. It was good thinking time, time for him to plane out every meticulous detail of his job. the calm and serenity he remembered was gone though. This time he wasn’t working a job, he was being toted to America to face a lifetime of jail after being interrogated. A handcuff anchored him to his chair, and sitting next to Agent MacTaggart instantly ruined the mood. He sighed and shifted in his seat.

Beside him, MacTaggart did the same, looking up and down the aisle. Raven and one of their associates sat quietly in front of them. They were the only ones on the government-owned machine. Erik watched disinterestedly as MacTaggart poked Charles’ sister’s shoulder and whispered something to her.  The next thing he knew, the blonde was snuggling into the chair beside him while her partner walked down the length of the plane on wobbly legs.

They sat in the same awkward silence that Erik was beginning to become used to, until Raven cleared her throat and started, “So, can I call you Erik?”

He spared her a look but in the end just sighed and couldn’t see the harm. “Why not.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Yes,” he said after a short considering pause.

“Does Charles know it then? Or… did he know you as something else?” her eyes became sharper at the mention of her brother, but her voice held no threat.

“When we first met I gave him a fake name, but I came clean after we-“ _first slept together,_ he didn’t say. Raven wouldn’t have appreciated it. He cleared his voice, and skipped over that bit of information. “He was the first person I told my real name to since I started this business.”

That bit of information seemed to do something, since Raven’s eyes softened and she couldn’t seem to look at him anymore.  She took her time trying to find the next topic of conversation. She was chatty, Erik couldn’t help but notice, a lot like Charles.

“I can’t believe he lied to me,” Raven said in a soft voice.

The words made Erik stifle a snort. They stung more then he would like to acknowledge. “He lied to both of us.”

“Yeah, but Charles wouldn’t do that unless he had a real good reason, you know.” Her green eyes looked up at him again as she shrugs her shoulders. “Of course you know.”  Raven said the words with the utmost confidence.

She was perceptive to, like Charles.

“Do you know what he was working on?”  he asked, unable to keep the question under his skin any longer now that he had someone to talk to. Someone who was willing to talk to him.

Raven bit her lip and looked in the direction in which MacTaggart had disappeared. “I don’t,” she said quietly, turning a scrutinizing eye on the man sitting in the chair directly in front of Erik. He had ear buds in his ears, and his head slumped in sleep. “I know Charles and Moira were working on something for months a year ago. I know he went to England and decided it would be in our best interest if he set up a post out there. He kept in contact, but very little. He was deep undercover all the time, it seemed. Moira kept giving out assignments to him, and the next thing I know - I’m in Barcelona and Moira is telling me my brother has gone AWOL.” Her body slouched in the small airplane chair, looking worn out and tired.

“She said she’d tell me the whole thing once we got you to Washington, but if there’s one thing I’m learning, it’s that the CIA doesn’t give a fuck if they tell their people the truth or not.”

Erik watched her comb her long slender fingers through her bright blonde hair. Raven was pretty, but not in the way same way as Charles. She was curvaceous and tall, her lips pleasantly pink where his were lush red. She couldn’t be Charles’ direct sibling, maybe half, or step. It didn’t matter. She looked genuinely worried about the man she called brother. All of her worry came out in a long exhausted sigh, “God. I hope he’s gone rogue.”

“I don’t know what I hope for,” he answered truthfully. The thought of Charles willfully leaving him made his stomach tighten and his heart break. At the same time the idea of his lover being captured was even worse. Erik was no stranger to the devices used to interrogate spies and foreign prisoners; he had used a few of them himself in the past.

He wondered if Charles had ever used them in his time as an agent.

MacTaggart tumbled back to her seat before Raven could continue on the conversation. She looked a little green in the face and Erik had assumed she’d left to be sick, but at her arrival the blonde perked up. “What did the boss say? We going to Washington?”

“No,” Moira answered, deep brown eyes shifting between Raven and Erik, “We’re heading to Langley. Apparently the boss has something in mind for Mr. Lehnsherr here.”

The curt mention of his name grabbed Erik’s attention as his brows narrowed. The woman didn’t look at all pleased about what she was about to say.

One of MacTaggart’s hands rested on the seat behind her to steady herself as she said, “Mr. Lehnsherr you have two options, and what you choose determines what happens to you when this plane lands. You can either help with this investigation and come peacefully with us to Langley, or you can choose to stay out of it and go to nearest State Penitentiary for the rest of your life.”

Erik’s gaze instantly became suspicious. “Why does your boss want me to help with this investigation? I have now idea where Charles went, or what he was investigating.”

MacTaggart shook her head, “That’s just it. You know more about his investigation then any of us. Because he was gathering intelligence on a man named Sebastian Shaw.”

 


End file.
